"Weasley."
She'd looked up from a stack of paperwork in a tiny little cubicle hidden somewhere in the Ministry of Magic. Draco despaired of ever finding his way back outside again.
"Draco!" And her face had lit up like a Christmas tree, and suddenly Draco was five years old again and fought the urge to beam.
"It's the end of the war," he reminded her, distracted by a strand of hair that fell into her eyes. He reached out a hand to push it behind her ears, and she caught it with one of her own and held it against her cheek, smooth and cool against his warm fingers.
"No," she said with a smile. "I'm not seeing anyone."
"My, you're easy."
"Do you honestly think I would have fallen for it if you said you were here for anything else?"
"No, you're far too smart for that."
"So where are you taking me for our first date?"
They'd gone out to dinner at Nox, even though she'd insisted that her work clothes weren't nice enough. He'd leered a bit in a melodramatic fashion, and she'd slapped his hands away. But when they met up later to go dancing at some club in Muggle London, he noticed how short her blue skirt was and how she smiled every time he gazed at her long, long legs.